


Forsworn

by Thelittlescrimshaw



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:17:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelittlescrimshaw/pseuds/Thelittlescrimshaw
Summary: Lorcan is a dishonored male, but he is Elide's- if she would have him. Elorcan.





	Forsworn

**Author's Note:**

> I am such GARBAGE for these two. This is a post-EoS (because that left me YEARNING for more) and has a healthy dose of smut (because I needed these two to bang like, yesterday.)
> 
> This was originally posted on my tumblr<3

He does it without thinking. It is second nature to use his body to shield Elide from the arrows. It would have been smarter to shove her out of the way, to sling her over his shoulder and run, but he isn’t thinking like a warrior; he’s thinking like a lovesick puppy. 

He hears Gavriel and Whitethorn in the distance; hears Elide’s shout. 

He can feel the poison seconds before it takes hold. The last thing he sees before he loses consciousness is the horrified face of Elide. 

He cannot undo what he’d done to Aelin. But he can spend the rest of his days serving her. 

“Forgive me,” he says as he loses consciousness, “that I could not do more.”

//

When he wakes, his head is pounding. 

He can hear a fire crackling nearby, can hear the sound of another’s breathing. He’s lying on a bedroll, his entire torso covered in bandages. He can smell the sharp tang of the salve; the pain is only a dull ache, thanks to the ointment and his Fae healing. 

Elide is sitting some distance away, stoking the fire. She gives him a look and clicks her tongue. If she’s surprised he’s alive, she doesn’t show it. “We got separated from the others.” Her tone is curt and cold, and he almost flinches at it. Almost. “Once you’re healed, we should find them.”

He nods his assent. Wordlessly, she hands him a skin of water. After drinking, he says, “It shouldn’t be much longer. The poison is temporarily disabling, but not deadly. Though if Whitethorn hasn’t tracked us down by now…” he trails off, not relishing where that thought has gone. 

The thin line of her mouth tells him that she’s thought of that, too. “Still. We’ll find them.” And there it was, that quiet determination. She turns her attention back to the fire, as if Lorcan were no more interesting than a log. In a way, he does not blame her. But in another way…

In another way, he does not anything but to serve. He will make himself invaluable, even if it will not earn him her attention.

They sit in a tense silence. The pain in his back and shoulders begins to fade. He sits, experimentally stretching an arm out, and clenches his teeth in pain. 

“Careful,” she scolds with a sharp look. “If you tear your wounds open, you can dress them yourself.” 

Even as she says this she limps over. Lorcan sends out tendrils of his magic to brace her injured leg. If she notices, she doesn’t comment. “Lie down.” 

He gives half a smile at the rise of her old spirit but does as she instructs, lying on his stomach and pillowing his chin on his hands.. She kneels beside him, calloused hands peeling back the bandages and applying more of the ointment. She works in silence, until: “Why did you do it.” 

He doesn’t have to ask to know what she’s referring to. “I hadn’t realized...I thought it was the best course of action. That Maeve would do such a thing…” her hands stop; Lorcan takes a breath and continues, “I thought she wanted the Wyrdkeys. Not your queen.”

Her hands still. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I swore that I would protect you. If I don’t keep my word, what do I have?” 

She sighs. Her hands resume their ministrations, deftly, gently, dressing the remains of his wounds. Lorcan tries - and fails - not to revel in her touch. He had not been touched like this in centuries. He’d been healed, but with magic. Not tenderly. Not intimately. 

Not by an infuriatingly mortal woman. 

“You’re tense,” she says. She’s dabbing at the edges of his wounds, cutting the bandages into strips at her side. “Relax, Lorcan. We’re safe.”

It’s not fair how his pulse races when she says his name. It’s not fair how his skin burns under her touch. It’s not fair how, even after he’s betrayed her trust, she’s fussing over him. And she doesn’t know what it means to him, as a fae male, to have her fuss. To  _ let _ her fuss. 

His heart nearly leaps out of his throat when her fingers press into the muscles of his neck and shoulders and begin kneading. His eyes flutter shut until his entire world is where her hands are on his skin, and he almost groans in protest when she stops. 

“That should help,” she says, and he can hear the blush in her voice. “Now - sit up. I’ll wrap the bandages.” 

She kneels before him, eye level with his chest. The strips of black cloth she uses as makeshift bandages were long enough to wrap around the expanse of his chest, and Lorcan realizes with a pang that they’re cut from one of her skirts. Elide is clinical about it; he can feel her breath on his chest, and the way she kneels gives him an eyeful of her cleavage. He doesn’t leer - he’s better than that - but he won’t pretend he doesn’t appreciate it. 

When she’s finished she pauses and looks up at him. Her face is soft, and there’s a sadness in her eyes. She reaches up and cups his face, smoothing a thumb over his cheekbone. 

“I...understand,” she says, softly. “I don’t forgive you. But I understand.” And oh, his heart breaks open at the confession.

He presses his hand over hers, absolutely dwarfing it and, in a gamble, turns his face to plant a kiss against her palm. An apology. A promise. 

She doesn’t move away, doesn’t say anything, just keeps looking at him with those sad onyx eyes. “Lorcan…”

“I won’t fail you again,” he says. “I swear it.”

“I’m not in the business of taking blood-oaths.” The words are sharp. 

“I don’t need one. You are enough.”

Her eyes widen, her mouth opens to form an ‘o’ and her hand twitches in his grip. 

And Lorcan wonders if anyone had ever said that to her before. 

She leans up to kiss him. It’s tentative at first, small, barely a brush of her lips against his. She kisses him again, and again, and when he’s sure she won’t stop, he kisses her back. He sweeps his tongue over the seam of her mouth as he sweeps his arms around her and pulls her into his lap. Her skirts fall around them as she shifts, one hand planted firmly against his bare chest, the other still on his cheek.  

Gently, experimentally, she drags her teeth across his lower lip. Lorcan’s breath catches, and she does it again and deepens the kiss, mouth open and slanted against his, and he - 

He fists a hand into her hair and arches her back, exposing her throat. He kisses down her jaw, her neck, nibbles against her pulse point. She gasps, nails scraping into his chest, and he continues his ministrations, continuing down to her collarbones. She’ll have faint marks, he thinks with that territorial fae pride, and then she grinds into him and all thoughts stop short. 

Her skirts are hiked up and around them, only her flimsy undergarments and his trousers between them. She does it again and his cock twitches at the touch; he drags his teeth across the shell of her ear in response. 

She leans forward to kiss him, and gently - so gently it aches - peppers kisses along his jaw, down his neck, and then she nips right at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, laves at the bite, sucking -

_ Marking him, _ he realizes, and his control begins to fray. 

One hand is braced against her back; the other tugs on the laces of her dress, slowly enough that she could stop him if she wanted - but she doesn’t stay his hand as her bodice loosens, as her sleeves fall off her shoulders and her heavy breasts spill out. 

Both of her hands are braced on his shoulders and she’s looking up at him, shy and strong all at once, a silent question in her face. 

“No one will see us,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He cups her face and kisses her, tongue sweeping across hers roughly, urgently, as if he could somehow communicate how alluring she is, how divine she is -

He cups her breast and she moans when his thumb drags across her nipple, all but whimpers into his mouth when he teases it between his thumb and forefinger. She cries out when he gives her other breast the same attention, and when he laves at it with his mouth she rakes her nails across his back and bucks her hips. Lorcan grins to himself and snakes a hand under her skirts, hissing at the feel of her damp undergarments. 

She gasps out his name when he hooks a finger into her smalls and drags it along her slit, nearly screams when he presses his thumb into her clit. 

“Elide,” he murmurs against her mouth as he slowly pushes into her. 

“Elide,” he whispers, when she moans. 

“Elide,” he gasps when she kisses him with fervor. He responds in kind, a second finger joining the first as he curls them inside of her, relishing the moans and gaps and almost-screams of his name. He can feel it when she comes, draws lazy circles around her clit as she trembles in the aftermath. 

She swallows thickly and looks up at him through her lashes. “I...I want to touch you.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” she says, and with a gleam in her eye, palms the length of his cock through his pants. 

Despite himself, a corner of his mouth tugs up in a smirk. “If my lady insists.” She pauses for a moment then, and he wonders if he’s presumed too much, but she only presses a small kiss to his jaw. 

He braces an arm against her back as she unbuttons his trousers and tugs them low on his hips until his cock is freed. She wraps a hand around the length of him and he groans into her neck, cups her breasts, murmurs in his native tongue against her pale skin.  _ Elide, Elide, Elide.  _

“I - I want,” she gasps, “I want you to…”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. She shimmies out of her dress and he kicks off his trousers and kisses her as he lays her on the bedroll. 

He kisses her neck as he enters her - slowly, gently - and she tenses around him, adjusting. He steadily builds up a rhythm, attuning to her breath, the noises she makes, careful to make it good for her - 

She claws at his back and cries out his name as she crests, hips bucking wildly into his. After - when she’s panting beneath him - Lorcan switches their positions, guiding her on top of him. His wounds smart at the impact, but he hardly notices. 

Elide startles at the change, but they are quick to find a new rhythm; she gasps and moans and her nails scrape across his chest in an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain -

_ Mine, _ he thinks.  _ You are mine. _

Elide comes again and he’s not far behind; Elide is still trembling when he lifts her off his cock as he comes, spilling himself onto his stomach. Hellas knows he won’t risk a pregnancy. 

After - once he’s cleaned himself up - he twines his naked form with hers and kisses her brow as she strokes his hair. He’s not been casually touched - nor has he casually touched - in centuries. He hasn’t wanted to. But in this moment, Lorcan wants nothing more than to hold this mortal girl. 

“Your bandages,” she says with a small smile, “Are probably ruined.”

He smiles back. “Rut the bandages.” 

She chuckles, and brushes a thumb over his lips. “You look...good, when you smile. Less...untouchable.”

He swallows. “You look good with my marks on you,” he returns with false bravado, tracing a finger over the purpling bruise on her neck. She flushes and bites her lip. He continues, “I am yours, Elide. Blood-sworn or no, in whatever way you wish. If you would have me.”

“I stand by what I said. You will always have a place in Perranth.”

He is almost afraid to ask. “With you?”

She hums in response. “One day.” 

Lorcan wraps his massive arms around her and tugs her to his chest, clutches her tight. It is less than he desires - oh, if only she knew what he would do for her - but it is more than he'd hoped. More than he deserves. 

He will earn her forgiveness. But...for now, this is enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think :3 I might write more.
> 
> If you want to chat about Elorcan goodness, come find me at www.littlemanicmonday.tumblr.com


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